Ragtime Warfare and a bit of snow
by TrigramCyborg
Summary: Long after the Promised Day, when the conflict's concluded and Father's had the crud thoroughly beaten out of him, things settle down. But after decades of peace, Drachma seems to want nothing more than to get even for the destruction of their military. Who else to fight the war than the next generation of citizens? But what happens if Edward's kids happen upon Roy's kid?
1. Chapter 1

_"Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, "Is life a multiple choice test or is it a true or false test?" ...Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, "We hate to tell you this but life is a thousand word essay."_  
_― Charles M. Schulz_

* * *

There's always been a sort of safe feeling to the country side. So quiet and tranquil. Very few cars ever drove through the dirt roads, and the only real way out of here was by train. Along the rolling hills and fields, the passive sunsets had their own sort of beauty to them. It was normally very warm, perfect for the farms that grew to support a lot of the more urban places.

Considering everything, it was just a quiet, secluded life. A perfect place to raise a family, that was very true. But good luck finding someone who didn't run the risk of being some distant cousin or something. Who even knew in these rural parts anyways?

Allen thought about that as he stared out the 2nd floor window of the house, looking down upon his father's grape vineyard. He was watching the 41 year old man as he inspected the blooms with a fairly trained eye. Behind him trailed his daughter - Allen's sister - Lucille, seeming to be in a very lively conversation with him. At his dad's momentary smile, Allen felt a smirk press at the corners of his mouth and he turned away from the window at his bedside.

That man. He deserved all the happiness life anyone could ever have. There hadn't been a day in years now that he hasn't felt that about his old man. He grew up hard; lost his mom when he was young, then his leg... According to his many stories, he lost his arm too (despite it being there now) and their uncle lost his whole body. Allen remembered the stories of the three years they spent searching and scraping for a way to get their bodies back. His uncle was restored, and his father regained his arm at the loss of the alchemy he once was so well known for.

When he was young, he was remarkably skeptical of those stories despite everyone else in the house saying they were completely true. His view changed when he saw the photos from his mother, of his dad when he was younger than him with an automail right arm and left leg and him usually with a massive suit of armor.

No one told him how or why his dad lost his arm and leg until he and his sister started to learn alchemy from their Uncle Al _(naturally, he was on the receiving end of a lot of 'Little Al' jokes despite growing taller than his uncle)_. The Portal of Truth, as Alphonse had explained, worked through the Law of Equivalent Exchange that alchemists follow. It would show the one who opens the portal truth, and in exchange, it would take something from that person (always something important to them), but most people do not survive it. They were lucky.

Actually, they were very lucky. If it were to happen even a little bit differently, they could have died that night. Funny to think how easily he could have not been born. That thought struck him as he walked down the stairs, as it always did when he considered all the crap his dad had been through in his life.

Stepping down on the old wood floor, Allen glanced over to the kitchen where his Aunt May was experimenting with cooking - making some odd mix of Xingese and Amestrian food _(surprisingly, it was normally pretty good, except for the fishy stew gone horribly wrong that she so stubbornly kept making)_. In the work room, his mother was fitting a customer with a readjusted automail hand. Her long, pale blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail that fell to skirt the backs of her thighs. As always, she was lightly humming as she worked in her casual and steady pace.

Plopping down on the couch in the living room, he glanced at the newspaper on the coffee table. Its pages were a little scattered because whoever was reading it last hadn't thought to piece it back together. Though the front page was in clear view, and in big bold print it read "Recent Peace Attempts with Drachma Failed". He sighed, already knowing that story after reading it that morning.

The Drachman people were very upset with them, have been for more than a couple decades now. They claim that they were tricked by the Amestrians into having a large portion of their army destroyed at Fort Briggs. Fuhrer Mustang has been doing everything he could to try and appease them, but to no avail. At this point, the Drachmans couldn't be pleased with treaties and negotiations. They wanted the blood spilled that day to be repaid with interest - that was something the Fuhrer absolutely seemed reluctant to allow, with good reason.

Still, it seemed like every attempt for peace only seemed to draw them closer to war. Like those snowmen up North seemed to take offense when offered a diplomatic solution. Everyone was on their haunches, anticipating the first time that someone would lash out and a full blown conflict would bring the country cascading down from their few decades of peace. No one wanted the wars to return - he didn't want the wars to come. His dad told him about when he was kid, how there had been a war with Ishval, and the people were almost wiped out on purpose.

But there was more to it than that. In anticipation of any future violence, Fuhrer Mustang had reluctantly held a draft. Anyone whose number had been called on the radio would be leaving to the Central Military Academy to begin training. Allen listened to the station every day all last week to hear the numbers listed off, praying and pleading to a god he wasn't sure he believed in that he'd be spared.

Late last night, he had been listening with his mother and sister, holding his papers and reading his number over and over like a mantra that would somehow prevent him from being summoned. _2061226. 2061226..._ Sequence after sequence, they listened to the public broadcast.

_"0236567, 4832435, 2843256, 9835023..._

_...2061226..."_

He swore that then his heart had stopped, and all he could do was gape at the radio as the list concluded and was repeated again. At first, he thought it was all a mistake, but then he heard the dreaded number again. He wasn't mishearing anything. It was there.

Of course he didn't say a word at first, he just turned off the radio and slumped down on the couch with such a defeated look. He would be leaving. His mother tried to comfort him, but he did nothing but give her the cold shoulder. Not a word came from him that night until Lucille stood up and with a face set in her stone resolve declared that if he was going then she would go too.

Those words broke their mother's heart. She was always a strong woman, but at that moment, there seemed to be a look of horror on her face. Almost like she was seeing some terrible memory over again. But she didn't shed a tear and asked how they would break the news to their father.

Allen sighed, letting his head press into the back of the couch. He knew how he would. Today, his dad would be getting his leg back on after his mom had finished readjusting it, so he would tell him when he wouldn't be able to possibly kill him.

... Well his father wouldn't kill him. His father never killed anyone. But he would surely chase him down and shake him around and scream. He didn't want that. He wanted his dad to sit, and listen to it, not protest as he would normally. So telling him before he got his leg attached was his safest bet.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he snapped his head back to meet the typically calm, gold eyes of his Uncle Al. The man smiled and leaned onto the couch from behind. "What's on your mind, kiddo?"

Allen rubbed the back of his neck. "I was just... eh... I've got a lot on my mind, you know?"

The smile faded a little, but that kind tone hadn't. "Right. Winry told me about that this morning. I wish there was something I could do."

With a nod, Allen looked down to his lap. "Uncle, you and dad have been through a lot of fighting. Any advice?"

Alphonse thought long and hard about that. "If you're looking for help with guns, I can't. Never fired one, and I don't think your dad has either. But I can tell you that there's nothing a lot of hard work and practice can't help. We spared all the time."

"You still do," Allen pointed out with a knowing smirk.

To that, his uncle mocked an innocent face and shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he very obviously lied. He then thought for a moment and said, "Other than practice, use your alchemy should you be in a tight spot. Trust me, it helps volumes when you're being chased."

Allen nodded again. "I'll keep it in mind."

Alphonse gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "That'a boy."

The rest of that day went by very uneventful. As the sun arced through the sky, a blanket of thick clouds followed suit. Soon evening came and Allen found himself standing at the doorway with the feeling of a stone in the pit of his stomach as he watched his dad take off the temporary leg and his mom start carefully aligning the automail one.

He took a deep breath and decided it was now or never. "Dad?"

His dad looked up from his wife's careful hands lining the metal leg with the port and looked him over with a bit of a careful stare. He had easily picked up on the uneasy tone, and returned it with his own uncertain look. Angular gold eyes were pressed down by his furrowing brows and a frown creased his lips. "Yeah, Allen?"

With a nervous chuckle, Allen rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh... I got some news for you." He looked away from him now, his heart thumping heavily.

His mom had lined up the ports now and said, "Alright, Ed, I'll connect the nerves on three."

Ed nodded in response to his wife, and looked back to Allen. "What?"

"One."

Allen shuffled a step back and bit his lip.

"Well?"

"I... uh... You see..."

"Two."

"Allen?"

A deep breath. "I got drafted for the military."

"WHAT?!"

"Three!"

Allen watched as his dad was taken off guard by the sudden connection of his nerves. He hadn't listened to the warning, and prepared for it like he usually had. Edward bit back a scream and grabbed at the port on his thigh like it were something trying to kill him.

For the briefest of moments, Allen thought he chose the best time to bring it up, when his dad couldn't shake him down for answers, but he was dead wrong. He misjudged how quickly his dad could get over the pain. In a matter of seconds he got up and went to him. Allen tried to flee but found his dad grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back.

"How long?!"

"Huh?" The question couldn't have been more obvious, but Allen was too shocked to really process it.

"How long have you known? When are you leaving?!" There wasn't anger in those eyes, but rather panic and some hurt feelings he'd never begin to understand.

"I heard my number last night," Allen answered, grabbing his dad's wrists to get him to let go. "And I need to leave this Saturday for Central. My plan though is to try for the State Alchemist title."

Uncle Al took hold of Edward's shoulder and spoke firmly. "Brother, please. Calm down."

Edward took a deep breath and let go. The years had really curbed his aggressive tendencies, and all that seemed to show now was the sorrow. "Damn it. Damn that Colonel bastard."

Lucille seemed to take this as her chance to speak up too. "Dad, I'm going with him for that title too."

The color seemed to drain from his face for a moment before he turned to her and exclaimed, "The hell?! You too? Were you drafted too?" So much for his curbed aggression.

She shook her head. "No. I'm doing this on my own."

A silence fell upon the room for what could have felt like hours to Allen. He could see the stunned look on his dad's face shift to horror and then absolute anger. His fists were clenched tightly enough that the knuckles were going white.

"Brother?" Alphonse seemed a more than a bit worried now - and that made Allen more so. His uncle was normally very cool, but hearing him this unsure and uneasy with his own brother was nothing but a bad sign.

Another few seconds passed before Edward shook off Alphonse's hand and went outside. And as the door slammed shut behind him, there came a bright flash of lightening, and the clash of thunder very soon after. They stayed still for the longest of moments, and then as the heavy sound of rain on the porch begun to resound in the room, the realization of what just happened seemed to sink in.

His dad had just walked out into a thunderstorm.

* * *

_"The person who says it can't be done_  
_is almost always interrupted by the person who is doing it." _  
_― Shannon L. Alder_

* * *

Paperwork. Seemed like it followed her dad like some stalker he could never shake. It's been like that for as long as she could remember; he would sit at the dining room table for hours and hours on end doing work until her mom would eventually decide he should take a break. If she didn't, then he would end up like he was now; passed out at the table only to wake up at some point to panic about falling asleep on his work.

Well, he hadn't woken up yet. He was still fast asleep with his head buried in his arms, and a low snore raising from the back of his throat like a growl. Irene sat down at the opposite chair and rested her chin on her forearms to stare at him. His parents were always a bit eccentric, but that was to be expected of seasoned soldiers, and seldom did she ever see them actually sleep well. At least not her dad until recent years, when he finally went ahead and asked his doctor for a sleep aid.

_Does he even need a sleep aid,_ she wondered to herself, _paperwork does the job just fine._

Her eyes went over his salt and peppered hair, coming distinctly from his age of 55 years. Actually, he might have been the youngest looking old man she's ever seen. There was always some sort of younger-than-he-looks quality he possessed that seemed to make him age with such grace that any celebrity would want to know his secret. Though he could easily have passed for late thirties or early forties, there was something always in his dark eyes that seemed to give him a haunted look. He seemed to see more frightening things in all his time than he ever dared to tell her. Almost as if he feared that all those horrible sights would crawl from the deep caverns of his mind to exact vengeance for even invoking their names.

He never told her too much about his life aside from that he was one of those involved in the Extermination of Ishval, and for most his career he had made his way up to take power and change the country for the better - which he eventually did accomplish.

Except that peace was coming to their waning months as Amestris prepared for the inevitable day when Drachma would finally lash out. For as long as she remembered, the Parliament had been in control of the government since her father restored that power. But now, in anticipation for war and under the stress of their citizens for protection, they passed power back to the Fuhrer so that he could lead the country through the war. Even those diplomats knew just as well that they couldn't waste time trying to agree, especially not in wartime. It had been in the country's best interest that someone who understood war be the one to lead them through it.

And it had been the last thing her father had wanted.

She sighed and thought for a moment. That evening she was going to leave for the military academy and she hadn't told him yet. Actually, she wasn't even sure what she would say. _'Hey pops, I'm off to get myself killed'_? No. She didn't want to give him reason to thing that she was just being a stupid kid.

Better sooner than later, she decided and nudged his arm to wake him up. An involuntary snort broke the snoring as he sat up fast and looked down at the table. After a second, he groaned and ran his hands over his face. "I'll never have any of this paperwork done... it's like it multiplies when I'm not looking..."

Irene smirked to herself at her dad's grumblings, and recalled one of the few things he did love to tell her about when she was a younger - how he had a subordinate by the name of Edward Elric, and how he was the cause of half his paperwork then. "At least you don't have the Edward factor. Right dad?"

"No. I just have the everyone else factor now..." He grunted, and stood up to go make some coffee. "I mean, really, since the draft started, it's like everybody and their brother is signing up on their own to join the military - and a fourth of those people are going for State Alchemist... Really... why?"

"I guess people don't like being forced to go," Irene said, "maybe they want to make the choice before the government can. And maybe people are hoping that things have changed for the State Alchemist title."

Her father looked at her with tired, unamused eyes. "Things haven't though. I tried to have that changed, but even though everyone hates that damn title, they want these people in the military so that they can protect the country... and then there are the ones who are signing up, who I'm sure are just trying to be like Fullmetal."

"People can dream right? And maybe they thought things were changing since he showed up," she pointed out.

"What they don't get is that he was a kid, and there was no way in my right mind I'd ever see him in a battlefield." Glancing down at the coffee machine, he took a breath. "Besides, they seem to forget what a State Alchemist is called upon to do during wartime."

She watched him making his coffee and asked, "Weren't you a State Alchemist?"

He looked down, and his hand fished for something in his vest pocket. Out he pulled a silver pocket watch, with the military crest over the front. "I still am. If I'm to ever send those poor kids out to battle, I'm not going to send them alone."

That was something she never knew. "So you're still the Flame Alchemist. Even after all these years?"

"It's because of my position as a State Alchemist that I even became Fuhrer," he said, and poured the black liquid into a mug. "Why would I throw away a position I earned for myself?"

"I don't know," she said. "It just seems a bit unneeded."

"The salary I would get is unneeded," he corrected, "that's why I don't receive grants for my research anymore. No time and no need for it."

"Well if you don't do research, then why bother?" She asked.

Her dad smirked and tapped his head. "Probably because I want to keep a reason for remembering all these nifty little alchemy tricks I got."

Irene rolled her eyes. "Yes, because any child's birthday party isn't complete until someone's eyebrows are burnt off."

They laughed a moment as he considered whether or not to leave his coffee black, and finally just took the dark drink back to the table. "There's some more in the pot if you want it. Just save some for your mother."

She shook her head. "That's okay. Hey, dad, I've got something to tell you."

He gave her a momentarily glance up from his mug. "I'd better not hear anything about grand kids from you yet. I'm not old enough for them."

She laughed and shook her head. "No no. Nothing like that. It's just that I've been thinking about what I was going to do now that I graduated from school, so..."

It wasn't like she was trying to hide her plans, and he was starting to catch onto what she was going to say.

"I enrolled in the Central Military Academy," she said.

His jaw could have easily fell to the table then. Then he turned in his seat and called out, "R-Riza!"

A moment later, her mom came out to the dining room with a curious look on her face as she buttoned her shirt. "Yes?"

Her dad pointed to Irene in an almost childish way as he stammered, "She- did you?! Why?!"

Her mom's eyebrows further tugged together, and she crossed her arms. "Roy, just calm down and say it."

He took a deep breath and then finally asked, "Did you know about Irene signing up for the Military Academy?!"

Riza blinked, a bit stunned herself. "She didn't tell you already?"

"No!" He stood up, almost knocking his coffee over in the process. He then turned to Irene. "Who talked you into it?"

Irene held her hands up a bit defensively and answered. "Nobody! I decided for myself that I wanted to help you and the country. And the only way I can do that is if I'm in the military."

That seemed to shut him up for a moment, and he took a step back, as if ready to faint. Riza hurried over, seemed to think the same, but her dad remained on his feet. "My daughter...? But you could be killed!"

She stood up and said, "Then I'll die for something I know is right, defending my home. If you're so worried about death, then why did you and mom sign up?"

Riza sighed. "You know, she's grown up more like us than anything else."

Her father turned away and faced the window looking out on the courtyard. "Fine. Listen to your instructors well, and make sure the barrel isn't pointed at you."

Irene blinked with a bit of surprise. He was letting her off so easy for this. She thought he'd demand that she drop out before she got in. "I will." And then she went to her room to finish packing what she was sure she'd need.

Later that day, her father came into her room while she was packing, and peered over her shoulder. "You know, you can only bring one case."

She glanced up at him. "Oh. Right."

"Besides. It's not like you need to pack everything. You still live here," he said, and pushed on of the two cases to the side. "See if you can fit what you need in one. And leave some extra space."

"Why extra?" She asked, curiously.

"Trust me, you'll really want it later on." He said, and watched as she started to pull things out of the cases to fit what she was sure she'd need in one. When she was sure she was done, she showed him, and he fished a small notebook and a box of chalk out of his pocket. "I know I haven't shown you very far beyond the basics of alchemy. But you never know when you might need it."

"Thanks." Irene accepted the gift with a smile. "I'll be careful, so stop worrying about it, dad." Then she wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug, and tried her best to assure herself that she'd be fine. "Love you."

He tussled her hair a little, and smiled softly, and sadly. "Love you too."

* * *

**And so concludes the first chapter.**

**Just to explain, this is a story idea my little sis mainly came up with, and we decided we would do a fanfic, comic duo production. I'd write it, and then she'd make the comic version of this story. I'm really excited to see how this chapter will turn out in comic format, so please support both by keeping up and following the story!**

**I'll tell you all where to look for the comic next chapter, but until then see you soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

_"We all do things we desperately wish we could undo. Those regrets just become part of who we are, along with everything else. To spend time trying to change that, well, it's like chasing clouds." _  
_― Libba Bray_

* * *

The scenery rolled by like the dunes of the desert, or the waves of a sea. Such vast landscapes, so unknown to him, that he only could begin to imagine through his father and uncle's many stories of them. Vast stretches of sand or water seemed so unstable and changing, not like the fields he grew up to. Those always stayed about the same.

He could only watch the fields fly by from the train window, with a distant look to him. What else could he do? His mind kept flickering back to the night before, when he told his father that he was leaving...

_Edward had walked out, and very soon after he and Uncle Al went after him. But his dad vanished into the storm like a ghost, concealed by the fog. The one thing that gave him away was the deeper footprint his metal leg left in the dirt, where the toes dug in and scrapped. He hadn't put on his shoes, he hadn't put on a coat. He just left._

_His heart was slamming with worry and panic. Even if his dad never wanted him to know, Allen found out so long ago through putting the pieces together. He was an amputee, and that alone was enough to give him such immense pain in a storm - due to the shift in air pressure. But his dad always slept through bad weather and stayed inside, not once had he ever run out into a storm like this. It was stupid and reckless and begging for trouble._

_There was also another problem he learned on one of those stormy days. His father seemed trapped in his own past, haunted forever by the untold horrors he had seen. He did a good job smiling about it when he was awake and fully aware, but sleep brought on nightmares that left him crying out names Allen never heard before. Other times if they weren't careful, and caught him off guard, he would spring up and clap his hands together as he put distance between himself and the stressor, before realizing what he was doing and brushing it off as an old habit. Then there were the more extreme cases, when he seemed absolutely lost in some memory: his eyes would grow wide and his fists would clench until his knuckles turned bleach white. It would seem like, for a minute, he wouldn't breathe, and then recognition would return to his face and he would sigh with more relief than he'd ever tell._

_They followed the footprints up the road some ways until they reached the cemetery, where the prints were starting to change. They became more dragged, as if Ed begun to limp. A few times there were other marks, like he tripped and fell before scrabbling back up in some unnatural determination to keep pressing forward. Those marks soon led up to the form of his dad, hunched over a gravestone._

_Alphonse faltered for a moment and picked up his pace. "Brother," he knelt down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, "don't scare us like that."_

_His dad pulled his head up off his forearm, which rested on the top edge of the gravestone. At first, there seemed to be some sort of drunken look to his eyes, lacking any form of awareness. Allen felt his heart sink - it was the look. He was lost again. But then he blinked at his brother. "Al...?"_

_"There we go, we're going back to the house," Alphonse told him, and pulled him to his feet. Edward lurched forward and fell to his knees, grasping at his thigh as if he intended to pry his leg off by the port. What worried him was that his dad might just be strong enough to do so. His uncle took a deep breath and tried to help him up again. "Come on. You're leg's going to rust at this rate, brother." But Ed didn't get up, and Alphonse had to pull his hands off his leg before he could hurt himself. He held those wrists tight, and shook him in an attempt to regain Ed's attention. "Brother, listen to me. Listen! You need to wake up, okay? Snap out of it."_

_Ed pulled away and tried to get up on his own, with desperation bright in the depths of his gold eyes, but as soon as he got to his feet he crumpled in on himself. Perhaps a dizzy spell, or the pain in his leg finally left him senseless, but he was out like a light. Alphonse shook his head and pulled him up to carry him back, murmuring under his breath._

_Allen helped carry his dad as much as he could. And as they worked up the path to the house, he dared to break the tense silence that fell on them. "I'm sorry."_

_"Huh?" Alphonse didn't look at him, as he was trying not to lose his balance in the mud._

_"This is my fault," Allen said, "I should have known to pick a better time."_

_"His panic attack was probably caused mostly by pain," his uncle huffed, "you don't need to worry about it, this isn't something we can help."_

_"Yeah... I just wish I didn't have to break it this way."_

_Alphonse sighed and readjusted his grip on Edward. "Not that this makes it any easier for you, but he might not remember this - he never does when this happens - so you can always try telling him again."_

_"And that's what scares me," Allen said, "we'll still be worried about him, and he's just going to brush it off because he can't remember why we are."_

_"He'd brush it off anyways," Alphonse told him, "it's in your dad's nature to make sure no one worries about him... He throws the world's weight on his shoulders, and he'll carry that as far as he can. Even when he's got nothing more to give, he's still going to bare it, because he can't stand the thought of putting it on anyone else. For all we know, he's lying about forgetting to keep us from worrying; he probably thinks it's for him to deal with alone."_

He lamented on those words all day. He hadn't had time to even ask his dad if he remembered, he had to catch the next train to Central to get to the academy on time. So the best he did was left a note for him, explaining the whole thing over again and apologizing. Seemed like all he could do was say sorry, and plead up and down not to worry for him. He couldn't add more to his dad's troubles than he already had.

If it helped, he didn't know. And that was worse than anything. He didn't know if that note threw his dad into another fit or made him face the reality faster.

And to be honest, as much as he hated to admit it, he was actually kind of happy that he could play innocent. It let him think of some good reason why he was here aside from the draft without the guilt that might consume him other wise. No, he wanted something more than being forced into serve. It was then he decided that he would fish for the answers no one back home ever told him - he wanted to know what it was, what the truth behind his dad and uncle's story had been - because they only said small stories like Alphonse trying to keep cats.

He wanted to understand the events that traumatized his dad; now a haunted man, who tried his hardest to hide his inner turmoil. He wanted to know so that he could decide for himself whether or not he could tell him honestly that he wasn't to blame.

By the end of the day the train came to a halt, and the passengers exited with a sort of sluggishness only a day spent cooped up in a box car could give. Allen stood up just after his sister, feeling his knees give a crack from the sudden stretching after most the day sitting. His spine even found a way of scaring him with the popping noises it made.

Lucille smiled at him and nudged his shoulder. "I can't believe dad and Uncle Al rode this all the time."

Allen sent her a tired gaze and nodded. "Yeah... Least we didn't drive. I don't think I could have stayed awake at the wheel for that long."

They joined the other passengers as the filed out, each carrying some form of luggage with them. Allen had his modestly small case slung over one shoulder to keep from knocking his sister's leg or the seats. As they slowly advanced to the exit, Lucille retorted, "I can drive you know. We could have taken turns."

"But you're missing a few minor things," Allen replied, adding a quick apology as he bumped into an elderly woman. "Firstly, on what road out of Risembool would we drive on - legally? Secondly, what car would we drive (our folks only own one)? Third, I can't trust you behind the wheel for five seconds."

She would have crossed her arms if it weren't for the suitcase in her hand. "I've gotten better, honest."

"You took lessons from dad," he pointed out, "what makes you think that I'll assume you're better."

"Now you're just being harsh," Lucille said sharply.

"He drove into the river once," Allen reminded her - that had been one bust of a fishing trip when they were kids, "and Uncle Al keeps bringing up the horror stories of the couple times he tried to drive as a kid."

"Oh those weren't so bad," she waved off.

A stern look came to his face as he flatly reminded, "He drove into a hospital."

She opened her mouth to say something, anything in their dad's defense. But the only one that she could use, that their dad ever accepted as valid was "He was thirteen." _(Once they had plenty of joking excuses like he couldn't reach the breaks, or he couldn't see over the dashboard, but his dad never found those funny - and usually responded with a dry, sarcastic chuckle.)_

Outside, there was a bus waiting with a man outside it - probably the driver - holding a sign that read in big handwritten letters:

_"To Central Military Academy_  
_Show papers  
Departure Times: Every 45 minutes from 6 AM - 8:15 PM"_

Allen spared a quick glance at his watch to see that it was inching to 7:30 PM now. They would need to get on soon then. He dug his hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out the papers everyone between the ages of 18 and 30 received weeks before the draft. There were things that he had filled out, such as the two check boxes that asked whether he was drafted or he was enlisting on his own accord. That answer was obvious. He and his sister showed him their papers, and they were allowed on the bus.

Lucille let out a groan and leaned back on the hard seat of the bus. "Great... more sitting around."

"Eh, could be worse right?" Allen shrugged. This didn't bother him too much. No, it was the Academy he would soon arrive at that worried him now, twisting his stomach in knots with unease. The two behind him chattering didn't help, but he didn't dare turn and tell them to quiet down.

"Well this is it. Do you think we'll be killing anyone?" One of them said.

The other snorted. "That's kind of expected from the military, right? Hope it's not like that war a long time ago in Ishval, my grandpa said it was awful."

"Yeah. At least we're in the Academy right now. It's easy."

"Really?"

"Eh, aside from drill sergeants. What can they do to you anyways?"

"I don't know. But you know what I heard?"

"What?"

"I heard the Fuhrer's going to be visiting the Academy tonight - maybe tomorrow - to inspect the drafted troops."

"He must have some tough standards."

"Yeah, I hear they called him the 'Hero of Ishval' back when he was our age. Even say he can light you on fire with just one look at you."

"That's bullshit."

"But you never know, right?"

It was twenty long minutes of listening to those two before they were dropped off at the Academy, and given the unsurprisingly harsh introduction to their training here, and who would be training them. And while Allen had to stand through that, his sister was taken to the administrations office right away to properly enlist.

He thought he would be able to skip the Academy and become a State Alchemist, just like his father. But no, that wasn't allowed because "State Alchemist" had been sub-grouped. The troops and the government funded researchers. Since he was drafted, he couldn't become the latter, and not the former either until he finished his time in the academy. His sister had chosen to go through the same with him.

* * *

_"Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die." _  
_― Herbert Hoover_

* * *

Staring up at the looming storm clouds from the East, Roy narrowed his eyes with some consideration. Maybe it would rain later. He really hoped not...

With a sigh, he got out of his car and walked up to the Military Academy with neutral look on his face. This had been the place he once trained, the place he met Hughes and staged the short rivalry they had before becoming genuine, close friends. The place where only he could manage become such a misfit - all for choosing to judge one person based on his character, and not for his skin and eyes.

The place his daughter decided to attend, in some idea that she could follow in her parents' footsteps.

He took a deep breath and put that to the back of his mind. It was a new day, he didn't want to waste it worrying about his kid, who willingly had decided to fight. All he could hope for was that the Drachmans would get over themselves and agree to their peace treaty again to avoid the great amount of blood shed that could come from the conflict on the horizon.

The worst part about his job, was that he knew the horrors he was sending them into, and he couldn't shrug it off like the homunculus King Bradley. The fact that he, no matter how much he wanted to, couldn't exclude anyone from the violence because of relations made this all the harder.

Turning to his two bodyguards, he said, "You two can go. There shouldn't be much excitement from here on."

"But don't you need an escort?" One of them asked, seeming reluctant to let the eccentric elder man wander off on his own.

One of his classic smirks naturally came from that, and he replied with, "I think I can handle any issues on my own just fine. You might as well take a break." At their hesitation, he shooed them off with a "Go on. Go." and proceeded to the front entrance alone. From there he continued down the many hallways to the training grounds out back, where the drafted and enlisted men stood in a few long rows. Most were standing at attention upon his arrival, but there were a few who weren't immediately aware until someone beside them would nudge them and they'd straighten up.

Drill Sergeant Heinz approached him and gave a salute, which Roy wasted no time telling him "at ease" because he just wanted to get down to business. "Have you had any time to go over the new arrivals?" He asked while they walked to one end of the lines to start their inspection.

"Some of them, sir," Heinz answered with a formal tone, "I'll be honest, we got some spirited ones in the bunch. I'll need to keep an eye on them so they don't stir trouble."

Roy inwardly laughed. "You never know, some of the best men you'll find are the spirited ones. During the Promised Day incident, I had a particular subordinate who - to put simply - was very spirited."

"By how you're wording this, it sounds like he died," Heinz remarked.

"I wouldn't know," he shrugged, "he left after that day because he lost his ability to do alchemy, and he doesn't have a thing for keeping in touch."

Heinz nodded and they got down to business. He went over each man with a careful eye, looking for problems and passing them to the Drill Sergeant, who listened very intently. One by one down the lines, soon passing by his daughter, but he chose to throw in a brief "keep an eye on her" and kept going.

Face after face. He tried to remember them all, but he knew that was impossible. Then his gaze fell upon a young man with blonde hair and lively, golden eyes. Unconsciously, he found himself wondering, _Fullmetal? Did he enlist or something? What is he doing here?_

"Sir?" Heinz gave him a confused look, and Roy snapped out of his thoughts, realizing it would be impossible for Edward Elric to still look so young - barely any older now. But still... And were those earrings in one ear? No. He looked very similar. Not the same.

"Excuse me, what's you're name, son?" Roy asked, more than curious.

"Allen Elric," he answered with a careful tone.

"Elric," he thought aloud to himself. It seemed way to strange to be a coincidence. "By any chance do you know an Edward Elric?"

The blonde nodded. "Yes, sir. He's my father."

That came a shocker. Ed up and had kids on him? And he never cared to write and send him a photo? Roy felt a little bit betrayed at that, and wanted to ask this kid who the lucky woman was - though he had his guesses. But business was business. "I see." He then continued on with the job, trying to put that aside until he was done.

When business was said and done, Mustang turned and started up the stairs back inside. It was normally asked that he make a speech as well, and that was something he wasn't looking forward to. How could he stand in front of these people, most of whom didn't want to be here, and request their loyalty and courage?

After shrugging his bodyguards off a few more times that day, he found himself confronted by that familiar face in the hall. It was Edward's kid again.

He groped for a name, which, embarrassingly, he had somehow managed to let slip his mind. It had an 'Al' in it. "Elric." He greeted, masking the fact he forgot this kid's name.

"Fuhrer Mustang," Elric said, really trying to be straight and professional, "there are a lot of things I wanted to ask you about."

To that, Roy inwardly laughed to himself. He had to admit, this kid had a little bit of nerve to him. "What is it, son?"

His stare went to something behind him for a moment before returning to his face. "You were in charge of my dad while he was in the military, right?"

"Of course," Roy answered - why did this need to be confirmed?

"I was hoping that maybe you could tell me some more about the time he spent in service," the kid stated.

Upon hearing such, there came a feeling of dread in the pit of Roy's stomach. _Fullmetal never told his own kid what sort of things he'd seen?_ "I could, but it's a long story."

"Good, gives me more reason to be here," the kid said, "thank you, sir."

"Ease up a little bit, son," Roy sighed, "why not we just go outside and talk a little bit about this. You might have questions for me, but I've got some of my own for you."

With a nod, he agreed. "Seems fair." And with that, he followed Roy outside to the steps leading to the training grounds, where they sat down. Everyone was still getting settled, so they were able to have a bit of privacy. It had started to rain outside before they got there, and the concrete was already darkened with water. A sort of tired, seen-way-more-than-his-years look came to the kid's eyes.

"Something on your mind... eh...?"

"Allen."

"Right."

Allen sighed and crossed his arms, watching the rain hit small puddles. "It's just that the rain's been causing me a lot of problems lately."

"I think there's more to it than that," Mustang said, "isn't there."

With a gloomy look down, he nodded. "I guess you could say that."

"Well might as well get it off your chest now," Roy said, glanced up at the rain clouds above, where rain came falling steadily. "Believe me, nothing's easy if you make yourself an island."

Allen hummed in agreement. "Alright. I left home on bad terms, and it was raining then."

"Bad terms? What did you're family kick you out?" That seemed so impossible to believe.

"No. When I told my dad about the draft, he freaked out," Allen explained.

"Sounds about right," Roy stated flatly. He couldn't even begin to count how many times he had to be bringer of bad news to that stubborn boy, and he practically threw a tantrum over it. But it did make him wonder, Ed should be about... what? 40? Did he grow up at all over the years?

"What's that supposed to mean?" The younger questioned.

Roy casually shrugged. "Your dad was legendary for his temper tantrums. Guess it's expected when you've got a child in the military."

Allen shook his head. "No. No. It's not anything like that kind of freak out. I mean the kind someone gets from mental trauma."

"Care to elaborate? What kind of signs of trauma does your dad ever show?" It was starting to feel like someone shoved a wrench in his gut. Was he the reason for a kid's lifetime trauma?

"Like nightmares," he said, "and those sort of episodes where he's there one second and then he's off in some other world. He had one when I told him about the draft, but my uncle blames it on the weather and his leg just getting reattached."

Roy considered this for a moment. Nightmares... and flashbacks? It definitely sounded like the trauma many of the soldiers who returned from Ishval suffered - himself and Hughes included. "I guess considering everything, that's not a surprise. Your dad had a rough time as a kid."

"Can you tell me about it?" Allen asked, a bit hopefully.

"Just answer one more thing for me," Mustang requested, "How much has he told you?"

Allen looked down, thinking. "Well... I've heard some random stories, but they never really seemed very serious - and a lot of them were when he was twelve, thirteen or so... And my uncle's told me some about this 'Portal of Truth' that took my dad's leg, and apparently his arm and my uncle's body until they got them back. Oh, and their mom died when they were young, so my great-granny was like their legal guardian. Not much, you know?"

_So he never told him about the homunculi or the conspiracy,_ Roy wondered. "So you don't know how they got their bodies back to normal?"

Allen shook his head. "Nobody talks about it aside from my Uncle Alphonse brought his own soul back to the Portal, then my dad traded his ability to do alchemy for my uncle."

"I see..." Just thinking about it brought a chill to the Fuhrer. He didn't like to think back to that day. That day he had been forced through the Portal, and lost his sight for a time. Because of it, a new fear was instilled in him even after his eyes were long restored.

"So will you help or not?" Allen asked.

"I will," Roy agreed. "You have every right to know. Some time when you're free, just come to my office and we can discuss it."

Allen smiled and got up. "Thank you, sir." He quickly saluted and started up the stairs to find where he was supposed to be, leaving Mustang out in the fleeing light. The building started to turn on their lamps, but it only pushed the shadows back so far in the inky fog.

Roy took a deep breath, staring out into the thick, rainy curtain as his heart started to slam. Turning away, he make his way inside where the black didn't reach - to escape it's grasp.

* * *

**So chapter 2 now. I'm still trying to get used to writing with these characters, but so far I think I'm doing okay.**

**Anyhow, I've had some questions asked of me, and this chapter explains it a bit. With stormy weather, there's a change in air pressure, and people with amputations or arthritis tend to feel pain with it _(this is also going off of the actual cannon, where people with Automail tend to get achy with bad weather. In Ed's case in the manga, he also had a lot of stress too, so he was vomiting too)_. On top of that, his leg was just attached. There's more to it, but it's explained in the chapter.**

**I also was trying to make very plausible ways characters could be effected by the plot of the manga. Edward sort of has PTSD - but I'll do more research in that so I can write it with some accuracy - and Mustang's got his own problems too, if you pay attention and squint.**

**Also, no Irene in this addition aside from cameo. That is because I wanted it to focus on Allen. Sooner or later, Lucille and Irene will receive a chapter just for them, but Allen's got a lot of conflict with him, so it seemed like a good place to start.**

**Thanks for reading. And don't forget to leave a review!**


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